Kiss the War Goodbye
by Dreamwriter3
Summary: It's about a romance between a man and a woman. It's about past ghosts that live forever. It's about remembering forgotton dreams and letting go of anguish. It's about a single kiss.


Disclaimer:I do not own the characters of Sailor Moon nor the photograph "Kiss the War Goodbye," nor the story behind it. But I do claim ALL rights to my interpretation of the image, so hands off!   
Hello, readers! I know I haven't updated in a while, but bear with me, please.   
Note One:The title is taken directly from the title of a photograph that was once on the cover of Time. In case there are those who are clueless, "Kiss the War Goodbye" captures a returning WWII soldier and a nurse kissing.   
Note Two:I made a remark of sunlight, which I must accredit to the wonderful Tim O'Brien. Anyone who has read his books understands what a beautiful writer he is.   
I absolutely love the emotion in the picture, it's beautiful. There is a story behind it: the soldier had been returning home, and the first woman he saw, he kissed. I was compelled to embellish and liven up the story.   
So, enjoy this glimpse of a man and a woman.   
  
  


Kiss the War Goodbye

  
  
  
Serena Diana Hughes was excited. But she had reason to be, because the boys were finally returning home. The years had been trying. Mothers boasted about their courageous sons, though inside they fretted with a desperate fear that death would befall their children. They all did, because no matter how patriotic and beautiful everything sounded, there was still death.   
Unlike many of her friends, she did not have a soldier to write to, to reassure, to love. While the other girls sighed of their boyfriend's valor, she remained alone. Somehow the loneliness did not bother her immensely, because she knew that war was not all about valor and glory. War was about truth.   
"Look, here they come!" her friend, Molly, fervently whispered and grabbed her arm excitedly.   
Serena broke from her reverie, smiled, and called to the stream of men unloading from the vessel. To her right, a curvaceous brunette ran to her boyfriend, squealed, and threw her arms lovingly around his neck. It was one of many reunions. She smiled at this. It was the first step of America healing, before the bombing of Pearl Harbor, before the rationing, before the darkness.   
Serena reached down and adjusted the knee length hem of her white nurse's uniform. As she straightened, she felt a muscular, warm arm encircle her waist. Her jaw dropped. Her eyes grew impossibly round. Her breath got caught in her throat.   
And before she could even protest, a warm mouth covered hers. Her drooping eyelids flew open. When she tried to shove him away, the hand at her hip began to gently massage in a hypnotic, soothing circles. Another slid under her neck, supporting her as he leaned provocatively into her rigid body. As if anticipating her reaction, the stranger smiled against her mouth. Experienced lips rubbed hers, and to further coax her, he playfully nipped at her bottom lip. Too accustomed to the loneliness, to the feeling of being untouched, she gasped. Immediately, his tongue slid into her mouth, running along the roof of her mouth, her tongue, everywhere. The highly erotic thrusts of his tongue, coupled with his kneading hand aroused her. With a moan, she began to shyly return his kiss.  
Oh, the wrath that would befall her if her mother was present. Thankfully, she wasn't.   
It wasn't until the stranger lifted his head that Serena could actually breathe. She did in ragged pants. Almost hesitantly, she opened her eyes to confront the man who had taken such liberties to intimately kiss her in public.   
Midnight blue eyes sparkled above her, filled with laughter and relief, and to her trained eyes, a hidden anguish. It was the eyes of a soldier, a staggeringly handsome one at that. Her blue gaze visually caressed the short black locks peeking out from his cockily tilted, white sailors cap. A straight nose led to a generous mouth, the very mouth that had pressed against hers. He was smiling widely at her.   
All at once, she saw a playful young boy and a hardened veteran. The boyish grin, the alertness in his stature, the fascinating contradiction was there. She guessed his past: he had been a fun loving, carefree boy, but now he had seen things that many human beings shut out of their mind. For their peace. Not for his.   
"Honey, I've never been gladder to see you," he huskily declared, his blue eyes lazily alternating from her wide, watchful eyes to her swollen mouth. An uncertain smile tugged at her lips.   
"Do you always greet women like this?"   
"Only when I haven't seen one for over a year."   
She wiggled out of his embrace, and for a moment, regarded reality. Molly was staring curiously at her, certain that her best friend had forgone the responsibility of confessing to a secret lover. Others also stared, but from the telltale shrug of their shoulders or smiles, assumed they were yet another couple reuniting.   
But they were mere strangers suddenly brought together by a kiss.   
She blushed when she regarded reality, because only fantasies allowed her to act so brazen. And she never truly divulged in fantasies, not when half the population was waged in the grim reality of war. Reality brought embarrassment, awareness, and nervousness.   
Serena Diana Hughes did not act like this. She was a loner, the girl who listened while the others chatter about their boyfriends. She was an observer, the girl who looked when others presented pictures of handsome boys. She was demure and sweet, the epitome of a nurse.   
But, for once in her life, she had not felt alone. She had not been a spectator, but a participator.   
"What's your name, sweetheart?" the man suddenly asked, cocking his head as he continued to stare.   
His smile deepened when she blushed once again. There was something about this girl, his attentive soldier's eye and intuition had told him that. And when he had actually stridden over and planted a kiss on those pink lips, he had been right. There was a freshness, a shyness about her that reminded him of home, before the goddamned war damn near tore apart every remnant of humanity in him. It was no longer about those tortured screams, but about sunlight. He had learned long ago that sunlight was what human life was all about. That, and truth.   
"Serena."   
"Sounds beautiful."  
"And yours?" she politely inquired, which he happened to find amusing.  
A woman with manners, signs of humanity were so refreshing. During the war, manners had meant absolute shit. After all, who bothered with damn 'please' and 'thank you,' when bullets were flying everywhere?   
"Darien."   
"Welcome home, Darien," she softly said.   
The young soldier's gaze tore from her mouth and flitted over the black windows of the towering skyscrapers, the people briskly walking through the bustling streets. No more filthy trenches, sodden fatigues, bloodied parts sprayed everywhere. No more obscene jokes, no more hearty laughter that only a man seducing Death could laugh.   
Home.   
Nodding, he proposed, "Let me take you out to dinner tonight."   
Serena opened her mouth, but hesitated. It would be ridiculous to say yes. Silly, in fact. She was not a little girl anymore, but a young woman with a steady occupation who did not dream, nor did she pursue dreams. Or had she been lying to herself to avoid something overwhelming?   
"You don't even know me."   
"Well, dinner would be a perfect place to start." He smiled boyishly again, and once again, she caught a glimpse of the person this man was before the war. He was the same, but entirely different. That's what war did to young boys, changed them but kept them the same all at once. Because war is all about truth, something she could handle, but too many couldn't.   
She returned his smile, slowly, brilliantly. "My address is 113 Grant Hill Avenue. I'll be ready by six o'clock."   
As she walked off, with a vibrant redhead chattering excitedly at her side, Darien continued to gaze at her. Her silky blonde mane was pinned in a prudent bun, but despite its practicality, it only exposed the graceful curve of her milky neck. He remembered her full lips returning his feverish kiss; he remembered her blushing cheeks and politeness.   
She embodied home. A distant innocence that he wanted to lose himself in. But unlike home, she was tangible. Picking up his bag, Darien walked through the streets, relishing the sights and sounds he had only dreamed about while in those shitty trenches. He hailed a cab, and when one stopped, he slid inside. The driver peered into his rearview window, taking in the cockily tilted sailors cap, the navy blue slacks, and the squared shoulders. Even without the fatigues, he was a soldier, because the war engraved in him images and sounds that were forever. Darien would never forget the screams of his best friend as the life leaked from his body, his soul. He'd never forget the moment when he threw a glance over his shoulder while marching, and saw the numerous bodies cluttering the crimson stained fields. There were dead Germans and dead Americans. There was sorrow because he knew there were brothers out there who he had loved endlessly. No one but another soldier would ever understand his love, because it was too fierce and profound for the English language. But damn it, there was relief. Fucking relief that he wasn't one of those dead bastards coloring the earth with their blood.   
"You okay, son?" the driver questioned.   
Darien hastily shoved those memories deep into his heart and mind. They were his alone, a tormenting possession that brought pleasure but an intense agony. Then, suddenly, he thought of Serena. He thought of pinned blonde hair and warm lips returning his kiss. He thought of home, a time and place he could never return to. He thought of her manners and her shy smile.   
"Yeah, much better than I thought."   
  
  


The beginning

  
  
  
So, readers, what do you think? Truthfully, I'm very proud. Email or review!   
Dreamwriter_1234@yahoo.com Copyright©2003 


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